


Name

by Northisnotup



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Sex, Telepathy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/pseuds/Northisnotup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having telepathy was a lot like leaving the radio constantly on between two stations. While sometimes you could hear the voices crisp and clear, most of the time it was just a lot of static, indistinct sounds, and blurry images in the back of your brain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Dub con. Erik does not know Charles is doing this. 
> 
> Goo Goo Doll's title

Having telepathy was a lot like leaving the radio constantly on between two stations. While sometimes you could hear the voices crisp and clear, most of the time it was just a lot of static, indistinct sounds, and blurry images in the back of your brain. 

Skimming along the surface of others thoughts and emotions is as natural as breathing for Charles, but normally, that’s all he does. He skims just enough to let him sense who’s around, but not much more. After several stern lectures from Raven, it was all he allowed himself. His range and depth were kept in check at all times. Well, most times. 

If he could, he thinks he would live in that hazy place between sleeping and waking. That place where everyone elses thoughts and ideals and fantasies were doubled. Everything is twice as loud, twice as plausible, twice as captivating. There’s no way for his sleepy brain to protect himself, there’s no reason for it to. It is in that instant, that singular moment that Charles is most at home in himself; where his powers can just be. But that moment fades and then there is only so much he can ignore when it is being shouted at him. And Erik’s mental ‘voice’ is quite loud, demanding attention whenever he ‘speaks.’ No matter the shields he put up, Erik’s thoughts always stood out the loudest, bright as day and screaming for him to look. Just a tiny peek at what is going on inside. 

This was the fourth time this week he’d woken up sweating and aching, his legs spread wide and hands fisting the sheets, because Erik wanted someone just like this. And he wants them so badly. At first it was just a peak, one minute was all he allowed himself. Just to see. Then he let himself feel, like Erik did. Now, now he tangles them together as gently and illicitly as he can, and tries not to get caught. 

Shakily, Charles unclenches his hands from the luxurious cotton to scrub his them harshly over his face. Waking up is always the worst. At least when he’s sleeping he can imagine it was his dream and Erik wants him. But awake, seeing and feeling what Erik saw and felt? It isn’t the sex that bothers Charles; after all it was called ‘oxford style’ for a reason. However, when Erik held the man after, crushed their bodies together and just breathed into his neck, that’s not a fantasy; that’s a wish and a hope. And Charles? Charles can’t intrude on that, hates himself for seeing that. Fantasies are fantasies are fantasies. From a young age he was familiar with those, never the same body a night, in all manner of position. But the same body, night after night, and a bone-ache want of them is different, so different. 

Chest heaving a great sigh, the telepath fidgeted into a more comfortable position but did not bother getting up. There was no point, he couldn’t. Not with Erik still dreaming and projecting in the next room. Erik has his hands on the other man’s thighs, holding him open and watching as his cock disappeared inside them, the pale man beneath him gasping out obscenities and thrashing wildly, as Erik’s fingers left small bruises. Charles gasps for a second, hips shuddering, feeling fingers press and dip into the meat of his own thighs. 

He can feel his face stretching into a smile, sweat pouring down his temples. But it’s not really him, and he knows this. Logically, Charles knows this isn’t what he’s feeling, but his mind is so intertwined with Erik’s fantasy right now it’s hard to differentiate between what he’s ‘seeing’ and feeling. Feeling his nails dig gouges into Erik’s shoulders; feeling his own shoulder blades twitch as the man he’s fucking brutally savages them. His cock twitches hard against his stomach, leaving a smear of pre-come, and Charles can’t help thinking, as his hips twitch in pale imitations of the thrusts Erik is making, ‘Did I do that?’ Where his mind ends and where Erik’s fantasies begin is not a wall, he knows, but he wants. So he lets his heart pound, in his ears, his chest, his dick, and bites his pillow to stop the sounds spilling from his bitten lips. Feels a stab of something, jealousy, hunger, deep in his gut when Erik thinks of swollen kisses. 

Distantly, Charles could feel his body reacting to the sudden rush of hormones and endorphins. If he concentrated he could feel himself getting close to coming without a hand on his body, in contrast to the rough strokes Erik was giving himself in and out of the fantasy. 

Erik was now hunching forward enough to wrap his arm around the lower back of the man, pulling him up a bit, hips corkscrewing at what he was so fucking sure was the right angle until Charles felt his mouth fall open and unseeing eyes widen, knew he was making quiet helpless noises as his dick jerked, spilling out thickly onto his chest in time with Erik’s fantasy. 

Afterwards, he clings to the mental connection like a junkie clinging to a high, Erik’s own orgasm seeming more like an earthquakes aftershocks compared to the pleasure he perceived to give his partner. Then he slumps, fitting his grin into the shoulder of the man he’d been fucking. His hands running restlessly up and down his lovers’ sides, stopping every once in a while to rub soothing little circles into their flesh. Charles feels more than hears himself whimper. He’s always admired Eric’s hands, they were antithesis to his body, always more gentle then he intended them to be. 

Charles gives himself just a few moments to revel in the open affection of this fantasy, before starting the messy work of untangling his mind from Erik’s. So slowly he could still feel the small milking strokes the man was giving himself, huffing and shuddering as guilt and embarrassment and a bone deep want started to fill in the hole left by mindless lust. The feel of a lover fading, Erik’s mind starting to work, to compartmentalize, to package the lover away from his fantasy and back to where he belonged. The want did not fade as the dream man was tucked back into loving folds of memory. Only became a sharper ache as Erik reminded himself he did not- 

The Englishman wrenched himself firmly back into his own mind and body; he stayed away from those deep emotions. This was one area he could not afford to get his curiosity get the best of, lest he be banished from Erik’s mind just as his was his sisters. He just couldn’t take that, not because he would miss it sorely, though he would, but because truthfully, Charles knows that when it comes to Erik, he would never be able to keep that promise. Not when every morning, like clockwork, his mind reaches out to brush someone he wants desperately enough to lie to, to invade and lust for and then look them in the eye at breakfast. Knows because he is always so close at tripping over that last line he’s drawn for himself, never looking too closely at Erik’s dream lover. To afraid he’d replace them with jealousy.


End file.
